I think I’m going to puke.

On my previous cruises, I don’t remember even getting remotely sea sick.  Apparently being on a slightly smaller ship makes a huge difference.  Our captain told us today that we would be headed into 14 foot swells as we sailed out of Spain, on our way to Portugal.  I think he was hesitant to change our course because our last port of call in France was canceled due to the swells being too big for the tenders to transfer us to shore.  Because of that cancelation, we spent an extra day in Bilbao, Spain.

After three great days in Spain, I’m sitting here at the desk in my suite, trying to get my mind off the fact that my stomach wants to rid itself of the wonderful dinner I just ate.  I’ve medicated myself as much as I can; now I wait, hoping that the effects of the pills kick in quickly.  I’m tempted to call our steward and ask him to bring me some sliced ginger and hot water for some tea, but the thought of him trying to make it to my room without having an accident keeps me from doing so.

The captain has managed to turn the ship into the swells; I guess it’s better to have the forward up/down motion rather than the side-to-side rocking motion.  The effect of riding up the swells is very interesting; I would be having a fantastic time if it weren’t for the overwhelming urge to barf.  As the ship starts to climb up the swell, it feels like all of your internal organs are being compressed into your lower abdomen, only to be followed by a momentary feeling of weightlessness as the ships crests the wave and starts its descent  As the bow of the ship crashes back into the water, it makes a fascinating crunching, pounding sound, almost as if it’s being pushed into a large pile of fine gravel.

The interior of the ship is groaning and creaking in protest, and I can hear various thuds and bangs.  I’m hoping those are not the sounds of old people falling out of their beds or taking a nosedive in the hallways.  Everybody should be in their rooms and strapped to their beds; and if our beds don’t have straps, they should!

As a side note, I wonder if people’s Life Alert buttons work this far out at sea?

What the $#@! is “siesta time”?

Bilbao is a fantastic city!  It’s such a change from Bordeaux.  It’s amazing how you can travel such a short distance and have such a big change in language, culture, architecture, and landscape.  Bilbao is wonderfully green and beautiful, with stunning Spanish architecture, palm trees, and bright colors; such a contrast to the monochromatic limestone that we’ve seen the past few days.

Our first day in the city was mostly a free day.  Since we were supposed to be in France, no excursions were planned.  Regent did, however, manage to arrange shuttles going from the port into the city, so Gail, Kevin and I hopped on one so could explore downtown and shop.  We managed to find a huge array of wonderful shops, full of charming items on display.  I’m sure we would’ve purchased many great things, if only the dang stores were open.  Shop after shop, we were greeted with signs indicating that they were closed from about 1:00 to 4:00…time for siesta.  Seriously?  I’m not unfamiliar with this Spanish tradition, but when it interferes with my shopping time, I have to say, “WTF?!”  So, sadly, the three of us returned to the ship empty-handed, but we did enjoy taking in the sites.

Let me introduce you to a deodorant stick.

We spent our second day in Bilbao on an excursion that toured us around the city and took us to the Guggenheim Museum.  Getting an overview of the city was great, and our tour guide, Linda (actually, that’s not her name, but I’m horrible with remembering names, so Linda it will be), did a wonderful job at describing life and culture in this area.  Once we got to the museum, Linda introduced us to a second guide that would be helping with the tour inside.  His name was Alfredo.

So how to I remember Alfredo’s name?  Well, Alfredo was a stocky man that was dressed in a very heavy blue sweater.  Did I mention that it was sunny and 80 degrees outside?  Alfredo smelled like warm onion bagels and sweat socks.  I remembered his name because I thought I should check out the pasta menu when we got back to the ship…but hold the garlic bread, thank you.

Linda had tickets to the museum in hand.  She tore off half the stack and gave them to Alfredo.  She said that the group sizes had to be smaller to go inside, so half our group would go with her, and the other half with Alfredo.  I managed to maneuver my lanky long limbs through the crowd and nabbed the last four tickets for Linda’s group.  Gail, Kevin, and Larry cheered; the people without tickets groaned, knowing they would be stuck with Señor Stinky.  We were on our way into the Guggenheim!

This museum was fantastic!  This is the first museum where I liked the building more than the art inside.  Don’t get me wrong, the art was great, there just wasn’t a lot of it.  The galleries inside are vast; some of them only displaying a handful of enormous pieces of art.  Regardless of the sparsity of exhibits, the physical structure and the surrounding grounds were fascinating.  I had a blast zipping around, snapping pictures, and being thankful that I could experience such a wonderful place.

At the end of the tour, Alfredo only had four people left in his group (started with 15).  I’m hoping this doesn’t go unnoticed by the tour company.  When I saw him with his last pathetic tour participants, Señor Stinky didn’t seem too concerned that most of his people had discretely (or non-discretely) wandered away from the group, but he did look like he just finished a very strenuous Jazzercise class.  Why he didn’t just remove that sweater, I have no idea.

Nobody is having onion bagels for breakfast tomorrow morning.

Wonder Catholic Powers, Activate!

Our third day in Spain was spent in Santiago De Compostela.  After having such a great time in Bilbao, Santiago was a little bit of a letdown.  Maybe I’m experiencing a little bit of castle/church/old village fatigue…I’m not sure.  We enjoyed our time, but none of us were “wowed.”

What makes this city famous is that it’s a part of the Catholic pilgrimage, The Way of Saint James. The cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in the city apparently holds the remains of this saint.  It seems that participating in this pilgrimage is quite popular, as the main square was filled with people who were decked out in various hiking gear, poles in hand, and exhausted but triumphant looks on their faces.  Some people do the pilgrimage for spiritual growth, some just do it just for the adventure.  If you’re Catholic, finishing the journey could earn you an indulgence, which is like earning extra credit to get you out of Purgatory a little faster (sorry for the non-Catholic simplification of mine).  I asked Kevin if he was going to do it; the look that he gave me would suggest no.  Heathen.